


The Dissonant Verse

by sajere1



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Matriarchy, Reverse Bechdel Fail, Women In Power, character tags will be changed and relationship tags added as the story progresses, sort of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-07-26 14:27:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7577611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sajere1/pseuds/sajere1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been a long-time criticism of the Dragon Age series that, though the setting implies that society should be matriarchal, it adheres to patriarchal values, keeping alive stereotypes and actions from our society that would not, realistically, carry over into the environment of Thedas.</p><p>This story is a reimagining of Dragon Age: Origins with an actual matriarchy instated. There were many roads that could have been taken that would make this idea a reality - for example, keeping the original story intact, but replacing some key people and much of the dialogue. I chose a road that involves some rather extreme breaks from the "canon" story as it is known. Please keep in mind, this is not a society free of oppressive actions or derogatory views towards other minorities, i.e. elves and mages as in-universe examples; it is no more and no less than a story with women considered the default and given institutional power.</p><p>tl;dr it's dumb that thedas is supposedly led by men even though their main religious figure is a woman. so i fixed it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Couslands of Highever

**“And So is the Golden City blackened**

**With each step you take in my Hall.**

**Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting.**

**You have brought Sin to Heaven**

**And doom upon all the world."**

**\-- Canticle of Thredonies 8:13**

_The chantry teaches that it is the hubris of men which brought darkspawn into our world. Male mages sought to usurp heaven, but instead they destroyed it. They were cast out – twisted and cursed by their own corruption. They returned as monsters, the first of the darkspawn. They became a Blight upon the lands, unstoppable and relentless._

_The dwarven kingdoms were the first to fall, and from the Deep Roads, the darkspawn drove at us again and again until finally, we neared annihilation._

_Until the Grey Wardens came. Women and men from every race, warriors and mages, barbarians and kings; the Grey Wardens sacrificed everything to stem the tide of darkness, and prevailed._

_It has been four centuries since that victory, and we have kept our vigil. We have waited and waited for the darkspawn to return; four Blights have now passed under our care, and we keep watch for signs of any forthcoming._

_But those who once called us heroes...have forgotten._

_We are few now. Our warnings have been ignored for too long; I have spoken with Her Highness again and again of the surge in darkspawn activity, and yet her reluctance subsists. It may even be too late already, for I have seen with my own eyes what lies on the horizon._

_Maker help us all._

\-- One of the final journal entries of Warden-Commander Polara, 9:30 Dragon

+x+

There are few parts of Castle Cousland so well-lit in the morning as the chapel. At dawn, Mother Mallol and her staff of lay-sisters light each candle, as is the custom, to represent the burning pyre on which Andraste gave herself to the Maker; this completed, and caretaking of the room itself left to the servants, the lay-sisters come to the door to recite verses of the Chant of Light to any who may pass while the Mother begins her morning prayers. In larger chapels the lay-sisters would be accompanied by chanters. In a chapel that serves but a family and their servants, however, such staffing is hardly necessary.

And anyway, one would be hard-pressed to find any present at the first light of the candles but the sisters and Mother. Much of the castle staff may not make it at all past the required daily recitation of the first Canticle; even Lord Cousland, the most devout of his family, only appears thrice a day, at most.

It is an unusual day, then, to say the least, when Mother Mallol lights the first candle only to find the youngest Cousland already seated in the pews, her dark brown hair messy and out of its typical complex braid, covering her face from view as she mouths the beginnings of the Canticle of Andraste.

“Hear now, Andraste, daughter of Brona,” the youngest Cousland says, her voice hardly above a whisper; “spear-made of Alamarr, to valiant hearts sing; of victory waiting, yet to be claimed – “

“– from the steel-bond forges of barren Tevene,” Mother Mallol finishes, and Lady Cousland looks up sharply, hair falling to reveal her face – pinched and plain, notable only in that it is a product of the Cousland lineage. “Haelia, my dear, we have yet to even light Andraste’s fires. What has driven you to the chapel so early in the day?”

Haelia smiles, lips thin and tight, and Mother Mallol can see the cracked skin where her lips turn. “I apologize if I startled you, Mother Mallol,” she says, and her gaze slides from Mother Mallol’s face to the single lit candle in the center of the room. “There is much to be done today, what with the arrivals of Banne Landra and Lord Howe. I wanted to be certain I might ask the Maker’s blessing at least once.”

“Please, child, simply call me ‘Mallol’,” Mother Mallol says, her heart warmed by the devotion to the Maker. “I’ve known you since you were a wee babe, after all.”

Haelia smiles – thin, again, and quick to fall. At Mallol’s gesture, she reseats herself at the front pew, watching wordlessly as Mallol sets about helping the other lay-sisters light the candles, as they have dutifully been continuing while the Mother spoke.

When the room is finally bright as noon, and the pair of lay-sisters have taken up their stations at each side of the door, Mallol returns to Lady Cousland, sitting next to her in the pew. She hesitates for but a moment before she decides the best option is to barrel through. “Have you come,” she says, “to pray for your mother?”

Haelia’s shoulders tense. Her eyes are cemented to the flicker of the first light.

“I’d be happy to ask for the Maker’s blessings with you,” Mallol says, when no answer seems forthcoming. Finally, slowly, Haelia nods her head.

Taking that as all the consent needed, Mallol pull her hands up and bows her head, knowing without looking that Haelia has mimicked the position of prayer.

“Creator of the Sky, the Land, and the Sea,” Mallol prays. “Hear your people in our time of need.”

“Maker watch over us,” Haelia whispers.

Mallol continues. “Let no woman have cause to fear the shadows. Let their souls be lifted upon your return. So let it be.”

“Maker forgive us all.”

Mallol sits back up, watching Haelia’s slow, almost mechanical slide into a stiff-backed sit. “There, now,” Mallol says, gently resting a single hand on Haelia’s forearm – solid and muscled, the only part of her body not covered by the soft dress she’s wearing this morning. “I’ll be keeping a vigil this evening. Should you find the time, you’re welcome to attend.”

“Thank you, Mallol,” Haelia says, and for the first time in the morning her voice has smoothed, the honey of it seeping back in as her broad shoulders finally relax. When she stands, it is still slow, but languid, now, instead of sharp; the movements not of someone on edge, but of someone awake at early morning and unused to it.

“It is the least I could do,” Mallol says, tender. “If the worst comes to pass, child, take comfort in knowing that the Maker’s will takes many forms.”

Haelia nods. “I have taken up enough time from your duties,” she says, and touches Mallol’s hand, brief, before striding out of the room, leaving the Mother to begin her morning prayers.

The halls of the castle are eerily silent as Haelia begins to wander them; the light of morning bounces off the stones, almost blinding to any who glances at them longer than a moment. Even Haelia’s mabari, the earliest natural riser of the whole household, remains softly asleep back on her pillow. She is entirely, utterly alone here.

She breathes in deep, the morning dew and the smell of the nearby ocean saturating the air. There is little Haelia loves so much as the coast; the feel of the water against her knees, the wet spray of the breeze, the roll of the waves even after one leaves them. Much of it is unique to the beaches, but the scent lingers across all of Highever, a soft undertone to the bustle of the days.

The morning remains hers. No one is awake. To be proper, she should return to her room to dress in her armor – give Banne Landra a reason for confidence in the castle’s defenses. She still needs to braid her hair, to pin the orange baubles passed down by her family into the back of it; she has morning training to attend to, needs to practice her double blades in particular, for fear of growing out of practice and fall to incoming darkspawn. Needs to do her reading, lest she become like some sort of man, mindless and instinctive.

These are all her duty.

_Please, Maker,_ she thinks, sitting down on a bench in the halls, but has nothing to follow up with. _Please._

She sits for an hour and watches the sun rise, the red glow across the horizon like the pyre of Andraste herself.

+x+

“I expect, then, that your troops will be here shortly?” Eleanor Cousland is saying when Haelia finally makes her way into the main hall that afternoon, dressed to impress, her hair and make-up immaculate and shoulders stiff.

“I expect they will start arriving tonight, and we can march tomorrow,” says another voice, and Haelia lets her guard drop when she recognizes its nasal tone. It is just the husband of Arlessa Howe; he is important, undoubtedly, as he fought with both of her parents, but hardly the highest on the food chain that she must impress. “I apologize for the delay, my lady. This is entirely my fault.”

Eleanor lets out the sort of long-suffering sigh that Haelia has come to expect from her when normally-reasonable women let their men take token forces to complete planned strategy, as sometimes happens. Generally, she is more patient with them – there is nothing wrong with letting men pretend they can compete, much the same way you might let a child sit at a meeting without allowing them to speak. But it is not difficult to tell that Eleanor’s coming separation from her family is wearing on her; the bags under her eyes are stark, difficult to cover with her usual make-up, and her hand is tight on the sword sheathed at her side. Patience is not a common commodity today. “Just do what you can, Howe. I have other visitors today, and must attend to them first. I’ll simply lead our women in the morn.”

“As you desire, my lady,” Howe bows as Haelia finally crosses into the room, assuming the conversation done.

Eleanor’s face lights up as Haelia enters. “Darling! I was wondering when you would get here – Mother Mallol said you had quite an early morning. Howe, you remember my daughter?”

“I see she’s grown into a fine young woman,” Howe says, smiling the stiff way one does when they are unsure whether they are below or above the rank of the person before them. “Pleased to see you again.”

“Is your family here, Lord Howe?” Haelia asks rather than responding directly. Should the Arlessa come, it wouldn’t do to be unexpected and thus, lacking proper treatment.

“Oh, no,” Howe laughs. “No, Eliane was far too busy for such a trifle task as this. Though they do send their best wishes.”

“Support of our king is not trifle, Howe,” Eleanor says, lip curling slightly.

“I misspoke; I apologize,” Howe backtracks quickly. “I meant to say, she intends to work directly with the queen, and is thus otherwise occupied.” He turns to Haelia with a slight smile that is likely intended to be polite. “My son Thomas asked after you,” he says. “Perhaps I should bring him with me next time.”

“And Delilah?” Haelia says, careful not to speak too quickly or show much excitement.

The smile Howe cracks this time seems almost real. “She thanks you for the token included in your last letter, and speaks well of your charms,” he says. “It seems as though she expects nothing serious from you, though, if that’s what you are searching for. She is a girl yet, and a wild one at that.”

“I don’t expect my girl will ever settle, Howe,” Eleanor says, smile half-indulgence and half-pride. “She has her own mind these days.”

“A temperament to match her fighting skill,” Howe grins, gesturing widely to the broadsword on Haelia’s back. “Well done, your ladyship.”

“At any rate, darling,” Eleanor says, her voice hard in front of company but less stiff, somehow, speaking to her daughter, “I summoned you for a reason. While I am away, you are in charge of the castle.”

“What?” Haelia bursts out before she can stop herself. “Why can’t I go into battle with you?”

_“No,”_ Eleanor says, her voice immediately harsh. “I would never dream of putting you into danger like that. It won’t happen.”

“But – “ Haelia bites her tongue. It wouldn’t do to be caught arguing in the presence of Lord Howe. An argument to be had away from the ears of men, where they can speak more freely. “Very well. I’ll do what you think is best.”

“Good.” Eleanor nods, as if everything has been permanently settled. “Only a token force is remaining here. I know you’re more than capable of fighting if you need to, dear, but try to keep the peace?”

“Yes, mother.”

Eleanor smiles again at her acquiescence. “Oh,” she says, “and before I forget – “ She turns towards the doorway. “Show Polara in!”

The guards bow and open the door, and dramatically, out swoops a human woman impressively tall, with broader shoulders and a larger frame than any Haelia has ever seen before; she is wide-set, a complicated silver battleaxe strapped to her back, with hair almost silver-white pulled tight into dreadlocks and a pair of earrings – and she is dressed, Haelia realizes very suddenly, in the blue-striped armor of a Warden-Commander.

“It is an honor to be a guest within your hall, Teyrna Cousland,” Polara says in a voice almost mystical. “May I say that your chapel is quite lovely.”

“My lady,” Howe says, and his voice is almost _accusatory,_ the entitled man, “you didn’t mention that a Grey Warden would be present.” 

“Watch your tone, Rendon,” Eleanor says, eyes narrowed. “She arrived unannounced very recently, but even had she not, it is no business of yours who I do or do not have as my guest.”

“Of course,” Howe says. “I am simply at a disadvantage. A guest of her stature demands certain protocol. I was...unprepared.”

Eleanor glares for another hard moment before she relents. “They are rarely seen here, yes,” she says. “Darling, Alduous taught you who the Grey Wardens are, correct?”

Oh, Maker. The wardens are so secretive that Haelia knows exactly nothing about them. “They’re...an order of....great....warriors?” she says, slow, hoping that’s general enough to be technically correct.

Eleanor’s lips twitch at her obvious improvisation. “They are the heroes of legend,” she says, and Haelia exhales in quiet relief that her ignorance has been covered for. “They are those who fight the blights and ensure the safety of all of Thedas. Polara is looking for recruits before she heads south to fight with the queen – I believe she is looking at Ser Tamra.”

Before Eleanor can continue, Polara cuts in. “That,” she says, eyes directly on Haelia, “is an excellent sword.”

Haelia bristles with pride at the compliment. “Thank you,” she says. “It isn’t a family weapon, as mother’s sword and shield, but it is excellent despite its lack of history – I helped the smith make it, myself.”

“Impressive,” Polara says. “You know, I’ve been told before that if a weapon does not have history, it means that you are intended to make history with it.”

“That is precisely what I hope,” Haelia says, her voice rising in muted excitement at the direction of the conversation. “I don’t suppose you could tell me more of the Grey Wardens...? I’ve heard stories of Loris and Neriah, but beyond that I’m shamefully unaware. I would love to hear of them.”

“Well, if you’re interested in the wardens – “

“Absolutely not,” Eleanor interrupts, stepping in front of Haelia and crossing her arms against the commander. “My daughter will put herself in no unnecessary danger, not even for a cause as noble as yours.”

“Is there a reason I shouldn’t join?” Haelia demands, leaning over her mother’s shoulder to make herself heard.

Howe remains silent next to them, but Haelia can see him giving Eleanor a Look out the corner of his eyes. Normally, she would be ever critical of his insubordination, but as he’s on her side this time, she’ll allow it.

“She is my heir and I would not see her into battle,” Eleanor says, stiff.

Polara puts up both her hands – a gesture of peace and termination all at once. “Ser Tamra it is, then,” she says. “If you might introduce me to her?”

“Of course.” Eleanor relaxes and slides back into her place, the danger against her only daughter passed. “Darling, can you ensure that Polara’s requests are seen to? Since you’ll be in charge.”

“I doubt you really need me here for that,” Haelia grumbles, still sore at the rebuff of her attempt at joining the Wardens. “Anyone else could see to her just as well.”

“Don’t argue,” Eleanor cuts her off curtly. Haelia huffs, but lets the matter drop. “Now, go prepare your things for the arrival of the Banne. I have business to attend to.”

“As you wish, mother.”

Eleanor nods and Haelia knows she’s been dismissed for the foreseeable future as her mother turns back to Howe. “My husband is out back, should you wish to visit with him. If you’ll excuse me, I must attend to my other guests.”

“Thank you, my lady.” Howe bows, low, and then walks briskly out to the hall, down to where Haelia’s father has been eagerly awaiting him all morning.

Haelia hesitates for a moment to follow him, glancing casually between Polara and her mother. “You will be present tomorrow, I expect?” she says, cautious.

Polara smiles, dark eyes crinkling at the edges with laughter wrinkles. “For as long as it takes to test Ser Tamra, I will be on your grounds and at your service, my lady.”

Haelia smiles back, tentative and sweet. “Then we shall talk later.” She gives her mother a single bow and then darts in for a kiss on the cheek before she can be reprimanded at its impropriety; Eleanor makes a vaguely offended noise and Polara laughs aloud as Haelia sprints out of the room, stopping only at the corner of the hall.

“Lady Cousland!” someone is shouting, and she leans against the wall to catch her breath as the thrill of extremely slight rebellion courses through her. She should not have done that in front of Warden-Commander Polara. It was entirely improper to act so casually in front of such an esteemed guest, and should she see Mother again tonight she’ll certainly hear about it. But should she not...

Haelia doesn’t know if she could stand having no opportunity to see Mother off before the war.

_“There_ you are,” Ser Tamra says, ending her jog about a foot away; she’s dressed in her full battle regalia, undoubtedly prepared to present her women to Banne Landra in a few short hours. “Heard the teyrna called you over, so I thought I’d come save you. Looks like I’m a little late.”

Haelia snorts, coming back to a stand and stretching her arm tight. “Wish you’d made it earlier, considering mother’s company.”

“Yes, I saw the arlessa’s husband come in.” Ser Tamra pulls a face, tugging instinctively on one of the small braids framing her face, and Haelia grins, bumping her friends shoulder playfully with her own. Tamra gives her that shy sort of smile reserved between the two of them. “Anyway, I did actually have reason for calling you. Your hound’s got into the kitchen, and Nan is having a fit.”

“She’s just blowing off steam,” Haelia dismisses.

“Yes, well, your father seems to think she’s going to annoy the piss out of Howe,” Tamra snorts, crossing her arms. 

“Even better.”

_“My lady.”_

“Alright, alright.” Haelia waves a hand, dismissive. “I’m a bit busy at the moment, though. It’ll need to wait a few minutes.”

Tamra is already shaking her head before Haelia finishes her first sentence. “I have been threatened with severe punishment in the form of burnt dinner if we don’t take care of this immediately, and unless you’re keen on me dying of some bad nug meat, we’re hopping to it.”

Haelia pulls a face, but begins the reluctant trudge towards the kitchen. There is a moment’s pause where Tamra is practically vibrating next to her, and Haelia rolls her eyes fondly before she says, “I know you’re going to ask, and yes, a Grey Warden is here recruiting.”

“I wasn’t going to ask,” Tamra protests. Then, “Really?!”

“Yes, really.” Haelia smiles despite herself, but it falls quickly at the memory of her mother’s dismissal at joining the wardens. “Her name’s Polara. I met her in there, with Howe.”

“Wow,” Tamra breathes. “Then...was it also true that this grey warden was asking after me?”

Haelia bites the inside of her mouth, clamping hard on her instinctual nasty response. It is not Tamra’s fault that she is the one the warden wishes to see. “I believe she intends to test you for recruitment.”

“Maker’s breath! Really?” Tamra’s expression turns to a full-blown grin, infectious enough that Haelia reprimands herself for her inner bad mood. “Can you imagine! Me! A grey warden!”

“Do you even know anything about them?” Haelia snorts, coming to a stop just outside the kitchen and pressing a hand to the knob.

“Do I need to?” Tamra says. “They’re legends!”

“So are flying nugs, and yet,” Haelia says, just dodging a well-placed swat to her shoulder as she shoves her way into the room.

“Get that bloody mutt out of the larder!” Nan is snarling as they walk in, and Haelia suddenly understands her father’s concern about bothering the guests. Nan’s poised as if a general setting up troops, one hand up in direction at the two miserable-looking servants following her lead. Were she not about ninety years old, she would be almost scary.

“But mistress, it won’t let us near,” one of the servants says.

“If I can’t get into the larder, I’ll skin both of you useless elves, I swear it!”

“Nan, we’re here,” Ser Tamra interrupts, voice quiet and quaking again, shoulders slouched as if to make herself smaller.

Unfortunately, this redirects both Nan’s attention and her wrath, and Haelia finds herself very suddenly on the receiving end of that angry tone and wagging finger. “You! Your bloody mongrel keeps getting into my larder! That beast should be put down!

“He’s not a mongrel!” Haelia steps forward instinctively, fight rising in her voice. “He’s a pureblood mabari!”

“A blight wolf is what he is! How am I supposed to work like this?!”

“Oh, dear,” one of the elven servants mutters. “Mistress, please, calm down – “

“That’s it!” Nan throws her arms up for dramatic emphasis. “I’ll quit! Go inform the teyrna, I’ll go work at some nice estate in the bannorn.”

“Nan, please,” Ser Tamra says, both hands up.

Nan sighs, rubs her eyes; for the first time Haelia sees the deep bags under them, the way her fingers are shaking. “Just...get him out of there,” she finally sighs, wearily. Haelia and Tamra exchange glances and then shoo the servants away. Haelia takes a long, deep breath and –

“You know, we could’ve just opened the door,” Tamra says after Haelia has already thrown her entire weight against it to shove it inwards.

“Too late now,” Haelia chimes from where she is lying in a heap on the floor. There is a loud barking sound, a blur of movement, a weight atop her chest – and slobber all down her throat as her mabari licks her face. Haelia laughs out loud, rolling on the floor in an attempt to get him off of her. “Adil – Adil, stop! Adil!”

“What a mess,” Tamra notes as Haelia wrestles the dog off herself. Adil’s slobber has ruined her make-up, but that’s hardly a proper concern. “Wonder how he made it in here this time.”

Haelia finally manages to pull the mabari into a sitting position next to her rather than on top of her, and immediately begins scratching him behind his ears as he paws at her leg. “What a smart boy you are!” she coos. “Oh, yes, you are!”

“See, this is why we have problems,” Tamra says as Haelia finally stands fully, still wiping dog slobber off of her chin. Adil spins in place, barking loudly. “Though it does seem like he’s trying to tell us something.” Tamra puts a hand up, slow and protective, over Haelia’s torso. “Wait. Did you hear that?”

“Hear wh – oh, flames,” Haelia says as giant rats begin to pour in from the walls.

The rats are large, but not exactly difficult to dispatch; it takes approximately forty seconds to deal with them all, between two blades and a mabari. Tamra is shaking her head in disbelief throughout the entire fight. “Maker,” she says when they’re done. _“Maker._ It’s like one of those terrible fairytales.”

“I knew Adil brought us in here for a reason,” Haelia says, patting her dog fondly on the head. He barks back at her, pleased.

“Sure,” Tamra says. “Anyway. Best not to tell Nan, I think. She’s so tired already.”

“Understood.” Haelia brushes her armguards, resetting them where one of the rats had knocked them slightly askew. “So, assuming there’s nothing else...?”

“You’re free to roam the castle as you choose, my lady.” Tamra claps her on the shoulder. “Try to stay out of trouble.” 

“Never,” Haelia promises. The two of them share smiles before Tamra heads back out the door, undoubtedly to prepare her forces for the inspection the teyrna and banne will be giving them.

Haelia rolls her shoulders before she makes her way back out to Nan, the weight of her sword and the mindlessly happy tail-wagging of her dog next to her settling her stomach a bit from the day’s excitement. “There he is,” Nan is already complaining before they even make it past the doorway, “brazen as you please, licking his chops after helping himself to the roast, no doubt!”

“Adil has done nothing wrong for his entire life,” Haelia says.

“Oh, sure. Made it into my larder again and snuck off like a free thief, he does.” Nan scowls.

A sudden shriek makes them both turn towards the pantry. “Oh, mistress!” one of the servants shouts. “There are rats in the larder! Big ones!”

“Looks like the dog killed them,” the other servant mutters, scratching idly behind his ear.

“Hmph.” Nan crosses her arms. “I bet that dog led those rats in there to begin with.”

Adil whines. “Oh, don’t even start with the sad eyes!” Nan says to him. “I’m immune to your so-called charm.”

Another whine. Pitiful. Terribly sad and pitiful.

_“Here,_ then,” Nan relents. “Take these pork bits and don’t say Nan never gave you anything! Bloody dog.”

Adil barks happily and Haelia reaches down to scratch his chin for another moment. Nan shakes her head, wrinkled expression finally smoothing out for but a moment. “Thank you, my lady,” she says. “Now we can get to work.”

Nan is already yelling at the servants again as Haelia backs out the door, dragging Adil with her; she smiles and shakes her head, walking down the halls with the dog by her side.

Haelia swerves a hard right – though her make-up is of no concern to her, there is a matter of appearances for the Banne’s arrival, and she needs to head up to her room. It only takes one corner, however, for her to be suddenly, acutely aware of the fact that there are four people in her path, and they have already seen her.

“...and our dear son Fergus' wife, Oriana, brought this from Orlais when he last visited,” her father is saying, presenting a finely-crafted wooden figure of a horse. “The marquis who gave it to her was drunk, I understand, and mistook Oriana for the empress.” He looks up and smiles, brilliant, at the sight of Haelia and Adil wandering over, and that more than anything makes the trip worth it. “Ah, and here she is,” he says, taking a light step to give her room into the circle. “I see you have your dog with you, pup. Is everything taken care of?”

Haelia nods seriously. “Nan’s head exploded and my hound ate the kitchen staff.”

“Well, thank the Maker, we’ve been looking for an easy way to tell them we’re lowering their wages,” Bryce Cousland says, a gleam in his eye. Adil barks, seemingly pleased with himself. Father gestures widely to his companions. Rendon Howe curls his lip in an imitation of a smile, and Haelia represses her urge to just punch him and get it over with. “Pup, I know you saw Howe when he arrived, but are you familiar with other guests?”

A stout, red-haired man nods politely. “Darrien, the son of Banne Landra,” he greets, nodding respectfully. “I think we last met at the last tourney – I was with your father, in the stands.”

Haelia smiles vaguely. “It is good to see you again.”

“And you, as well.” Darrien waves his hand dramatically. “You are looking as beautiful as ever.”

_You can’t directly rebuff him, he’s the son of the Banne. You can’t directly rebuff him, he’s the son of the Banne._ “Thank you,” she says, in place of the somewhat more personally appropriate “Go soak your head” or “Fuck off.”

He smiles again, as if he has somehow had his affections confirmed. _Men._ “And this is my mother’s lady-in-waiting, Iona,” Darrien says, gesturing to a blonde elven girl next to him. “We came ahead to tell you that my mother should be arriving in the next half hour.”

“It is a great pleasure, my lady,” Iona pipes up before the conversation can leave her behind. “You are as pretty as your mother describes.”

“Don’t look now, Bryce,” Rendon Howe butts in, “but I believe the girl has a crush on your daughter.”

“Lord Howe!” Iona whispers, pale face flushing bright red.

“Howe, please, you’ll turn the poor thing scarlet,” Bryce grins. Haelia smiles, gently, at Iona, which only serves to make her blush more.

“May I go now?” Haelia asks politely, keeping her eyes very pointedly off of Howe’s leering gaze. “I need to freshen up, especially if Banne Landra is arriving so soon.”

“Of course, Pup,” Bryce says, clapping her shoulder. “I’m sure you have much to do.”

“I think I’ll rest now, as well, my lord,” Howe says.

“I am of the same mind,” Darrien says. “We will be in the study, so as not to disturb anyone. I expect I shall see you at dinner.”

“Good evening, your Ladyship,” Howe adds to Haelia before the group scatters.

Before Haelia can walk much further, though, her father takes the chance to gesture her to the side of the hall, taking one of her hands in his. “You should say good-bye to your mother while you have the chance,” Bryce says, quiet, rubbing his thumb gently across the bones on the back of her hand.

“Father,” Haelia says, quiet, “why can’t I go with mother to battle?”

“Oh, you know your mother,” Bryce says, eyes wrinkling as he smiles. “Rather slaughter the whole world than let you fight one woman. I know it’s hard to watch her leave, but you know how it is. We do what we must. You understand, yes, pup?”

Haelia sighs and turns her hand over so that their fingers intertwine. “A Cousland does their duty,” she quotes, with only a smidge of bitterness.

“Exactly,” Bryce says. “Don’t worry. You’ll see your own battles one day soon, I promise.”

“I know. I just – I have a terrible feeling about all this, is all.”

“So do I,” Father admits. “I never like it when your mother is gone from me, but this? We don’t even truly know the nature of what she’ll be fighting. There is little to nothing that could comfort me now. But losing you would help no one, not as our heir. Your mother has her duty and we have ours.”

“Ours?” Haelia frowns. “Are you staying?”

“Not for long,” Bryce says. “In the next weeks, Fergus is coming to visit from Orlais, and he will take me with him on his return trip to stay with his family until the fighting is through. Your mother seems to think my presence will confuse your authority.”

Haelia is already shaking her head before he finishes. “I’d rather you’d stay,” she admits, squeezing where their hands are still connected. “I’m no good at being in charge. And I don’t want us any more separated than we have to be.”

“It won’t be long, Pup,” Bryce reassures. “From what I’ve heard, the Queen seems to think this fighting could be ended with only a battle or two – and I’ll return as soon as I’m able. You may not enjoy this sort of thing, but I know you’re up to the task.”

Haelia sighs. “As you wish.”

“Now, that’s what I like to hear,” Bryce approves.

Haelia toys for a moment with the idea of discussing the wardens with Father, but Adil barks – a reminder of their time limit – and she brushes the idea off. “I love you, Father,” she says instead, voice raw. “You know that, don’t you?”

Bryce stares at her for one soft moment before pulling back to offer his arms. She falls into his hug, head resting on his shoulder just as it did when she was a child. “I love you, too,” he says, rubbing soothing circles against her back. “You’re my darling daughter, and both your mother and I trust you completely to carry on the Cousland name if the worst should happen.”

“Right.” Haelia breathes deep and gives him one last squeeze before she pulls away, straightening up to hold herself more regally, back straight and arms stiff. “I must go to prepare, then. Landra will be very soon.”

“Of course,” Bryce nods.

He watches her all the way down the hall. And as soon as she is out of sight, he sits at the nearest bench and begins to pray.

+x+

“I’ll be honest,” Haelia says, leaning over Adil and against the doorframe, “I thought after last month, your days of Wicked Grace were over.”

“Well, my lady, not everyone is as eager to see me out of my clothes as you are,” Ser Halley deadpans, her companion across the table totally frozen at being caught in the act of playing on the job. 

“Not everyone looks as good running for a new pair of pants,” Haelia counters, and Halley grins with the sort of roguish charm that looks so good naked on Haelia’s bedspread. “You’re lucky I don’t turn you in for insubordination. Terrible punishment, you know. Just ghastly.”

“Exactly how I like it.” Halley waggles her eyebrows and Haelia resists the urge to snort.

“Halley!” the guard across the table hisses, her ears pink. “You can’t talk that way to the lady of the house!”

Halley grins. “Well, _my lady,”_ she says, and the other guard looks about to bang her head against the table at the lewd tone, “if you must know, we’re guarding the treasury, and the only ones that can get into it are your parents, so there isn’t a whole lot for us to do other than sit around and look pretty.”

“Well, you do a fine job of that, at least,” Haelia says, winking at the other guard.

“Um,” the guard says eloquently, and Haelia’s smile softens just a bit.

“I’ll let you off with a warning this time,” she says, standing with a roll of her shoulders and wrinkling her nose at the mustiness of the room – really, no one goes into the treasury, it’s a wonder whatever’s in there hasn’t rusted away by now. “But honestly, I can’t let it go more than once. Be at your post next time, yeah?”

“Anything for you, my lady,” Halley winks, and Haelia rolls her eyes fondly as Adil barks his laughter next to her.

It only takes a tapped signal against her leg to get Adil to follow her as Haelia turns and leaves the room, set resolutely towards the main hall, where Banne Landra is meeting with Eleanor and Bryce. The time spent fixing her make-up was not in vain; while Haelia is not exactly good-looking even in full formal ware, attractive solely in spirit, it is more for the sake of appearance than anything. Effort towards maintaining physical appearance proves a woman’s devotion to keeping herself professional, rather than needing everything done for her, as men do. 

She slips into the main hall with little fanfare, opening and closing the door almost silently and Adil barely a whisper as he trods beside her; they are noticed only by Ser Tamra, posted in front of her women at parade rest as the three nobles in charge speak. With a quick glance to make sure that no one important is watching her, Haelia makes the crudest gesture she can think of in Tamra’s direction. To her credit, Tamra’s mouth only barely twitches into a smile, her expression and posture otherwise faultless. Allowing herself a brief grin at her tiny success, Haelia is quick to restore her professional outlook as she marches over, entering the nobles’ conversation seamlessly.

“ – absolute nonsense,” Eleanor is saying flatly as Haelia slides up next to her father, Banne Landra nodding sympathetically. “‘Weather.’ The things these men come up with to try to justify their own failings.”

“Luckily, his ineptitude won’t see us too far behind schedule,” Banne Landra reassures. “My women have already been sent ahead, my finest warriors leading them; the only ones set back are Arlessa Howe’s women themselves and yours. I’m sure the queen will not fault us a day’s extra.”

“Perhaps not if we’d warned her beforehand,” Eleanor grumbles before she finally sees her daughter. “Oh, hello, there, darling daughter,” she greets, with that sort of motherly tone that says she is Happy To See You But Has Not Forgotten Your Earlier Disobedience.

Haelia pretends not to have heard the tone. “Mother,” she nods, before turning and bowing deeply. “Banne Landra.”

“Please, my girl,” Landra allows with a placating smile. “There is no need to bow. Technically, as a Cousland, you are higher status than I.”

“Mother has always spoken well of your military exploits,” Haelia says as she rises. “It would be in poor taste for me not to acknowledge such a brilliant tactician as my superior, regardless of technicality.”

“Oh, my,” Landra chuckles. “Your father was right, you do have quite the way with words.”

“Thank you,” Haelia says, and briefly considers whether or not it would be appropriate to bow again before deciding, Andraste’s earlobe, who cares.

Luckily, if it’s an oversight, Banne Landra seems willing to overlook it. “Now,” she says, turning back to Eleanor, “I understand that I’ve just missed dinner. Can I assume my boy and my lady-in-waiting arrived safely?”

“I met with them,” Bryce says. “Last we spoke, they retired to the study; they must’ve just left dinner, I expect you can catch them on their way to the guest rooms.”

Stress seems to seep out of Landra’s body. “Good,” she says. “I love my son, but he’s got no brains at all – not like your boy. Fergus settled down so nice. Dairren’s got no wits about him at all.” She shakes her head. “At any rate, it is good to hear he is well.”

“He will be as safe as can be within our house, Landra,” Eleanor promises.

“I know,” Landra nods. “Well, there’s not much left to do, then – we’ll leave mid-morning, when Howe’s forces arrive, and head south. I’ve heard the Warden-Commander is here; will she be joining our entourage?”

“No, she’s remaining and testing some of Mother’s – some of _my_ staff for new recruits,” Haelia says, stumbling ever so slightly over the changes. Tamra winces over Eleanor’s shoulder in sympathy.

Landra shoots Haelia a sympathetic look. “Not to worry, my girl,” she says. “Your mother and I have fought worse battles and come out alive.”

“I...” Haelia's voice falls dead on her own ears. "I worry anyway. I know it is foolish"

Landra’s hand falls hard on her shoulder. “My girl,” she says, “if you learn one thing, learn this: your worries are no weakness. They are what keep you aware, keep you fighting. Hold onto the care you have for your family – it is no flaw.”

Landra’s hand drops, and Haelia bows again. “Thank you, my lady,” she says.

Landra nods, decisive. “Then we are done for the night,” she says. “I will go to see my son, if someone could please lead me to him.”

“Ser Tamra can show you the way,” Bryce promises, and Tamra nods before breaking rank, sharing one last, long look with Haelia before she leads the Banne out of the room.

There is a moment of silence. Then Eleanor says, “Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you did this morning, young lady.”

“I love you,” Haelia says in lieu of a response, and reaches out to squeeze her mother’s hand tight. “I love you so much.”

Eleanor pauses for but a moment before her hard expression crumbles and she sighs, squeezing Haelia’s hand back. “Oh, I love you too, my darling,” she says. “You know I can’t stay angry with you. Please, be careful while I’m away. If anything happened to you, I…”

Haelia reaches up to give her mother another kiss on the cheek, then turns to do the same to her father. “Wake me,” she says to Eleanor, “before you leave in the morning. Please.”

“Don’t worry, my daughter,” she says. “I will.”

Haelia nods, once uncertain, and then nods again, decisive.

And then she turns and leaves the room, sword heavy on her back.

+x+

_Childhood. Quiet. The stir of the drapes in the window as Nan tells her story, Adil sleeping sound at the foot of the bed._

_Before our mothers’ mothers came down from the mountains, a warhound was born to the elder bitch of a tribal chief. They named her Hohaku and gave her everything. She grew up a fine, strong pup, destined to be the partner of the chief’s eldest daughter. Hohaku grew prideful. The young hound became arrogant, taking food from her kin and warning them – in the way of dogs – that the chief’s family would punish them if they tried to attack her._

_Years passed, and the time for the chief’s daughter to take a war hound came closer. Hohaku’s pride swelled, and many people of the tribe came to the chief, quietly whispering of her dog’s bullying. With each complaint, the chief saw only Hohaku’s strength and pride, and sent her people away. But as her daughter grew, the chief watched more closely. The day might come when her girl’s life would depend on this dog. If the humblest of her people would not trust Hohaku, how could she?_

_When the day came, Hohaku sat proudly, waiting to be called. But the old chief chose Hohaku’s sister as her daughter’s hound. Hohaku was shamed, but felt no remorse. So great was her rage that she darted across the fire pit and bit the chief’s hand. The chief and her daughter struck at Hohaku, cursing her. The hound ran into the village, seeking shelter in the tents and kennels. The other dogs snapped at her, and the tribes people threw stones at her. Before the chief could reach her, the tribe had torn Hohaku apart._

_What does this story tell us, child?_

No one is above justice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few clarifications.
> 
> 1\. I have put quite a bit of research and thought into this story. Many things, both major and minor, were changed. While I would be really goddamn happy to discuss every single little detail in great depth, that would take up a lot of notes, and would also take out the potential fun of analyzing the story and finding it on your own. So if you have discussion - ESPECIALLY if there's something you think should've been changed, because I'm certain there's plenty I've missed - please, please bring them up in the comments! A lot of my decisions have Matriarchal Research Evidence (TM), so either I'll learn something from you or vice versa. :)
> 
> 2\. Tags will change as the story progresses. Right now, I'm...not sure what to tag it? Which is unfortunate, because I'd like people to see it, if possible, since I can't really trust myself to be perfect at critically analyzing gender dynamics all on my own. But as the location changes, different characters/relationships will be introduced, and they will be documented accordingly in the tags. This makes it a little easier for me to keep track of all canonical characters used, amongst other things.
> 
> 3\. Speaking of canonical characters: wherever possible, when a switch from a male character to a female character has been necessary, I have tried to use canonical characters. This has involved some interesting reaches - for example, the five "player characters" that weren't used are, technically, canonical, and will all show up (some of them in major ways) - and has also involved reaches that are technically inaccurate to canon - for example, in the original story, Polara is dead at this point - but other than extremely minor characters, I have done my best to ensure that every major character is a woman. This has involved certain unexpected changes; for example, Wynne can no longer be a companion because of the nature of her job, thus a different companion from the circle had to be chosen. While I have done my best to keep the story reading as if a narration of a single series of options in a gameplay, it should be made clear that these gameplay options are reflective of the changes in story.
> 
> 4\. Finally: it should be made clear that, while I do intend for this to reach no further an extent than that which a matriarchal society should necessitate (as said in the description, I'm not altering the power dynamics of any group except those groups that would be effected by the switch to a matriarchy), I have taken certain liberties in writing the story so that parts of it may be read as if I had written it from a matriarchal perspective. For example, it was possible for me to keep the gender ratio of companions similar to the original game. I chose not to. Instead, I employed a reverse smurfette principal - one man compared to entirely women. This is to emphasize the matriarchal nature of the story. Some changes may not be well received; many male characters will have their motivations and characterizations simplified and shuffled into a stereotype, to match the treatment many female characters receive. I ask that you watch and endure these with patience.
> 
> tl;dr if you have questions or discussion, comment! i would love to hear from you and i actually dont talk like a dictionary most of the time. this is my normal typing style. please feel free to speak your mind!


	2. Howe Treachery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for discussion of violence, some of which is somewhat graphic, and a lot of mentions of blood. There is also a portrayal of a woman experiencing trauma and its immediate aftermath. Please be careful.

It is, Haelia has found, very difficult to ignore a barking war dog.

She’d fallen asleep with her hair still done up, barely awake enough to strip her clothes before collapsing on the bed into dreamless rest; she winces at the feel of the orange baubles pricking into her scalp, shoved in from extended wear. She mentally vows to remove them and clean off the make-up before she returns to bed. Such as it is, she settles for smudging her eyeliner a bit as she sits up, rubbing her vision into something a little less bleary as she looks over at Adil, who is very resolutely growling at the door.

“What’s wrong, boy?” she asks, stifling a yawn – he’s probably just smelled someone who got up for a midnight snack and found themselves lost. “Is someone out there?” 

As expected, there is no response but another growl; Haelia stretches idly and cracks her back before standing, prepared to redress in a cloak and go lead whoever it is back to their room –

The door bursts open – father’s manservant –

“My lady! Help me! The castle is under attack!” –

_Thunk._

His body hits the ground, an arrow lodged firmly in his heart, and behind him, a pair of armed soldiers, pointing their weapons at her.

There is only a moment of electric silence before one of the soldiers shouts “Get her!” and Haelia instinctively springs into action. _“Adil!”_ she shouts, and Adil springs immediately into action, knocking one guard over and ripping into her throat as the woman struggles; the second comes at Haelia with a sword and Haelia does a quick shift in her stance, pivoting just to the side as the soldier thrusts. Haelia grabs at the hilt, misses, grabs the blade instead, and slams it backwards with all her might, smashing into the soldier’s nose. Instinctively, the soldier’s hands come up to cover her face, and Haelia takes the chance to liberate the sword from her grasp before sliding it, rough, thick, through the chinks of the soldier’s armor and into her side.

The soldier drops next to her companion and Haelia heaves a breath.

She is standing in the puddle of the dead manservant’s blood. Her hands – her legs – are covered in the gore of the soldiers. When she looks at her left hand where she held the blade, there are two long, deep cuts in her skin. Her fists tremble.

There is so much blood. There is so, so much blood.

_Maker,_ she thinks, _forgive me for what I have done._

She pulls her armor on methodically, her eyes focused on the still-draining bodies on her bedroom floor, her fingers still shaking, shaking, shaking. _Father,_ she thinks, pulling on her gloves. _Mother. I must check on them._

The moment she walks into the hall, she is accosted by two more guards – “Your teyrna is as good as dead!” one crows just before she slits their throat – and now she is covered in blood over her armor to match the blood crusting in the wrinkles of her knuckles, now she is wearing three layers of battle.

She wonders, as she stumbles into the next room, if perhaps she is dreaming. It certainly feels unreal – like she’s listening to one of Nan’s old parables, ghosting over as she's pounded over the head by some obvious moral message. Every nerve in her body feels numb, moving entirely of their own accord.

She leans, heavy, on the door, just in time to see Mother chop off the head of a screaming soldier. She is clutching her side and her left ankle has a limp. Haelia feels light headed. Adil nuzzles against her knee, whining in brief worry. “Darling!” Mother says, rushing over, and it is like a breath of relief; Haelia closes her eyes for a brief moment and lets the joy of her mother, alive, wash over her. “I heard fighting outside and I feared the worst! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” Haelia says, ignoring the sting in her palm. “What’s going on?”

“A scream woke me up,” Mother says. “There were women in the hall, so I barred the door. Did you see their shields? These are Howe’s women! Why would they attack us?!”

“Maybe you want to find Howe and ask him?” Haelia says, grim.

Mother scowls, and for a moment Haelia can see why she was called the Seawolf for so long in her youth. “The arlessa adores us, but Lord Howe – if he is behind this, I’ll cut his lying throat myself,” she snarls – and then the rage is gone as soon as it came, like the eye of a storm. “Have you seen your father? He never came to bed.”

Haelia goes cold. “Maybe he stayed up with Lord Howe.”

“We must find him!”

The sound of swords and screams drifts up from the main hall. “We should look for Banne Landra, as well,” Haelia says.

Mother sets her shoulders. “Then we must fight our way to them,” she decides, voice stiff. “Your father needs us. Let’s go!”

Mother’s room has neither of the people they seek – only a dagger and a sword stocked away in a chest. The next room is full of more soldiers; to the right, an empty closet area; to the left –

“Oh,” Mother whispers, and Haelia closes her eyes.

Mother kneels down, her hands trembling as she thumbs Banne Landra’s wrist, checking the pulse of the woman who once stood so tall. “Dead,” she says, her voice quivering. She bows her head. “Dear Landra. I’m...I’m so sorry. If she hadn’t come to me...if she hadn’t been here....”

Haelia rests a gentle hand on Mother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she says, quiet.

Mother’s shoulder shakes at the same speed Haelia’s hands do. “Howe is not even taking hostages,” she says, teeth clenched. “He means to kill all of us.” She gives Landra’s dead hand one last squeeze before she stands, voice hard.

She walks away without a word. Haelia closes Landra’s eyes before she follows.

They set out down the stairs again, Mother leading and Haelia and Adil following, uncertain, behind her. “Can you hear the fighting?” Mother asks as she sets down the stairs. “Howe’s women must be everywhere.”

The manservant’s blood on Haelia’s ankles is crusting, finally – it feels rough against the leather of her boots.

It feels. She feels it. She feels.

Something shifts.

_This is real._

_This is real. People are dead. People are dying. I may die. This is real._

_Howe has betrayed us._

_He must pay._

“Then we should take the fight to them,” Haelia says, and her voice has abruptly dropped an octave.

“Don’t be foolish!” Mother hisses. “You would throw your life away!” She sighs and shakes her head, coming to a stop at the bottom of the stairs. “The front gates are where it is loudest – someone there must know where your father is.”

“We can’t just leave and let Howe win!” Haelia says, coming to a halt next to her, voice half-shout.

Mother hushes her. “Listen, darling,” she says, urgent, “we haven’t much time. You must get out of here alive. If Howe is targeting us, then Fergus is not safe, and without the two of you, the entire Cousland line dies here. If Howe’s women are inside, they must already control the castle. We must use the servants’ entry in the larder to escape. Do you hear me?”

Haelia takes a long, deep breath, quieting herself to keep from alerting any nearby guards.

“I want Howe dead,” she says, voice low, dangerous. Her fists clenched at her sides. Her blood pumping hard. _No one is above justice._ “He has to pay!”

“Then survive and visit vengeance upon him!” Teyrna Cousland snarls. “Do not waste your life here!”

Haelia looks away. She stares at the ground. 

Her voice is like an earthquake, all tremors and cracks. “Is there anything else we can do?” she says, soft.

Mother hesitates for a moment before her face lights up. “My treasury key,” she says. “We could go there first and get the Cousland sword from the vault. That sword comes from your namesake – we can use it to rebuild, once we leave, if we need. But it may be a dangerous path.”

Haelia nods. “I’ll follow you,” she says, and Mother heads off down the hallway, Haelia and Adil trotting behind her.

They set off at a jog, hands perpetually on their swords in preparation – and then, rounding a corner, a servant. “The castle’s fallen!” she hollers. “I’m getting out of here!”

_Coward,_ Haelia thinks.

And then she thinks of the manservant lying on her bedroom floor. “Go, woman!” she shouts instead. “Save yourself!”

She glances over her shoulder and screams. “Here they come!” she shouts, sprinting up past them to the area they’ve cleared. “They’re right behind me!”

And they fight. And they fight.

Whatever women they dispatch, it seems as though two take their place, like a sickening mimicry of a hydra; the dining room, the hallway, the library _(and brother Alduous is dead, Haelia’s childhood gone up in swords),_ and everyone who slept in the guards quarters _(Halley, the first woman to take Haelia to bed, and now her eyes will never open again)_ and Fergus’ old room _(Nan, tell me the story Nan, no one is above justice)_ and Haelia’s greatsword feels heavier with each swing, and there is blood crusting in her hair and flecks on her teeth and coating her sword and her body and blood and blood.

Finally, Mother holds out a hand, stopping Haelia near one of the doors. “We’re getting close to the treasury,” she says. “The Cousland family blade lies inside. Use the key I gave to you.”

Haelia nods and opens the first door. She steps over the pair of bodies set to guard for the night – numb to it, but not, fiery angry but unable to focus on any one feeling – and she puts the key in the lock and enters.

Scale armor; good. This weird chestplate is terrible anyway. The armor with a flat chest is much easier to fight in. An axe, a sword, the Cousland family shield notched onto her back to save and never use, to never see any wear, and – 

“There they are,” Mother says, quiet. “The shield of Highever and our family sword.”

Haelia takes them both – treating them carefully, reverently – and stows them away, safe, and pulls her greatsword back out. “I will keep them safe,” she vows, and Mother rests a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment before they head back out.

They meet more soldiers on the way out. They meet an endless stream of soldiers. They fight until Adil’s growls are just background, until Haelia feels as though her bones are about to rot right from her body, and she fights more.

Her blood runs cold at the sight of soldiers in the chantry.

As soon as the battle ends, she does a sweep of the room. Mallol. Mallol. Mother Mallol.

Her body is not there.

_Please, Maker,_ Haelia breathes, eyes shut tight. _If you saved anyone, save her. Please._

And then she follows Mother out of the room to fight the next round.

+x+

The first thing they see when they open the door to the main hall is Ser Tamra, frozen, in the grasp of a mage preparing the killing blow.

_“NO!”_ Haelia shouts and pounces on the enemy, striking with her pommel and putting all of her strength into a single swing that drops the mage; the ice of the spell shakes off and then Tamra is fighting again, and Haelia is hit, and she is hit, and she is bleeding from her arm and from her leg and her lip and she doesn’t _care,_ who in the world cares, Ser Tamra will not die here –

And then it is over. Every Cousland soldier, accounted for. Every Howe soldier, dead.

“Go!” Tamra shouts, turning her head fierce to stare at her women as Haelia takes a moment to breathe, shaking her head when Mother offers her a poultice. “Guard the gate! Keep those soldiers out as long as you can!”

Haelia finally sets herself up, straight. Tamra walks up and shakes Haelia’s hand, clapping her shoulder. For a moment, they do not move – just hold each other’s arms, briefly, and breathe. “You’re alive,” Tamra says, quiet. “When Howe’s women got through, I thought – “ Her expression briefly falls into agony before she sets it again, steeling herself. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“You, too,” Haelia says, voice uncharacteristically soft. Her legs are shaking and weak now that the danger has passed. “Have you seen my father?”

“He was looking for you two,” Tamra says, giving Teyrna Cousland a formal nod as she finally releases Haelia’s hand. “Couldn’t go with him – we have to hold the hall. I realized what was happening too late to stop them all by shutting the gates, and even now they will only hold for so long. If you’ve another way out of the castle...well, now’s the time.”

_Tamra can’t die Tamra can’t die Tamra can’t die no no no_ – “Come with us,” Haelia implores, stepping up. “Please.”

“If I do that, the gates will fall before you make it out,” Tamra says, trying to soothe her, trying to accept her fate, _NO NO NO NO NO._ “I’m more useful buying you time. Please, just...”

“I won’t leave you,” Haelia says.

“Your father was wounded when I saw him,” Tamra says turning away to look at Teyrna Cousland, shoulders set and face steely. “I told him not to go, but he was determined to find you. He went towards the kitchen – I believe he thought there was an exit there.”

“I won’t leave you,” Haelia says, and her voice cracks on _leave._

Tamra turns back to her – her expression breaks –

Tamra pulls her into a hug and Haelia clings, like she is the one about to die, like they are not both covered in blood and sweat and the stench of death, like sisters, like lovers. “Be careful,” Tamra says, and her voice is shaking, and she is afraid, Haelia realizes suddenly. Tamra is afraid, and Haelia is afraid, and they are just two people who lived and now they are going to die. “Don’t do anything stupid. Live.”

“May the Maker watch over you,” Haelia says, and she gives Tamra a gentle kiss on the cheek.

“And may She guide your path,” Tamra responds.

And then she walks away.

Adil paws sadly at the ground as Tamra retreats. Haelia follows her mother out into the corridor, stumbling, as if in some grotesque, ongoing nightmare. _This can’t be real,_ she thinks. _This is real. It can’t be real. It is._

“On your toes, sweetheart,” Mother says, not unkindly, and Haelia jolts at the realization that there are yet more soldiers to fight.

The soldiers die in the corridors. The soldiers die in the corridors. The servants are dead in the kitchen. The fire isn’t even out – they must’ve been killed just as they were starting breakfast. Haelia is going to throw up.

And then – the last room – _please_ –

“There...you both are,” Bryce Cousland manages as Eleanor rushes the door, and Haelia could cry of joy.

The two women sprint over, both crouching at Bryce’s level. “Maker’s breath, what’s happening?” Eleanor demands. “You’re bleeding!”

“Howe’s women...found me first,” Bryce croaks out. “Almost...did me in right there.”

Haelia pulls out the poultice that she had refused Mother earlier; she rips off a shred of her glove and pulls his bloodstained shirt up to set the leather over his stomach wound – a material too rough, but it would have to do. Bryce turns over in weak protest but Mother hushes him, cradling his head in her hands as Haelia spreads the poultice over the leather, letting it sink down into his skin.

Tamra is going to die. Father is on the verge of death.

Haelia breaks the silence.

“I’ll kill Howe for what he’s done.”

“He can’t get away with this,” Mother says, her fingers tight in Bryce’s hair. “When we show this wound to the queen, she’ll have to – “

“Darling...please,” Bryce says, managing a pained, humorless laugh. “I doubt I’d survive standing, much less such a trip.”

“Then we’ll simply have to drag you out,” Haelia says.

“Only...if you’re willing to leave pieces of me behind, Pup,” Father grins through his pain, clutching the poultice over his wound.

“Bryce, this is no time for jokes!” Mother scolds. “Once Howe’s women break through the gate, they will find us! We must go! And someone must reach Fergus – tell him what has happened!”

“And take vengeance,” Haelia says darkly as her father groans aloud.

“Yes,” Mother says, watching her husband wince in pain with every movement, her voice matching Haelia’s in tone. “Vengeance.”

The moment settles. “Perhaps healing magic,” Haelia finally says, setting back to examining Father’s wound. “Or, maybe, if we could get a potion made – “

“The castle is surrounded,” Bryce says, hoarse. “I cannot make it.”

“I’m afraid,” says a new voice, and they unanimously turn to see Warden-Commander Polara sheathing her axe as she enters the larder, “that he is right.”

“They don’t know about this exit!” Haelia says, shifting her weight and straightening her back to look the commander dead in the eyes, jutting her chin.

Polara’s eyes are sad, haunted – Haelia wonders if the same is reflected in her own expression. “I am sorry,” Polara says. “If they haven’t found it yet, they will soon. To go with someone wounded would be suicide.”

Haelia turns back to her father, expression quiet. 

“Are you going to help us, Polara?” she asks, finally, settling on the only question that truly matters.

“Whatever is to be done now, it must be quick!” Mother snaps. “They’re coming!”

“I can lead you and your daughter to safety,” Polara says, and her voice is uncharacteristically serious. “But in exchange – well.” She looks to Eleanor. “You know what must be done.”

Eleanor breathes in deep and closes her eyes. “Take my daughter with you,” she says. “Make her a Grey Warden, if that is what is necessary. Just keep her alive.”

“What about Ser Tamra?” Haelia asks, turning to stare wildly at Polara – the last hope for Tamra’s survival.

There is a long, awkward pause. 

“I’m sorry,” she says, and Haelia _breaks._

“I’m not going anywhere,” she says, “I am going to stay here with father, I am going to die protecting him, you cannot make me leave, get out, get out of here, I will not leave, you will not make me – “

“Darling, please,” Mother says, and tries to rest a hand on her shoulder but Haelia _doesn’t want to hear it,_ there is so much death and blood and Tamra is dead and Haelia does not want to be alive, she wants to be dead, she will end herself here she will go down fighting she will die –

“Haelia!” Teyrna Cousland snaps, and Haelia looks up, eyes wild, her hands clutching Father’s tight, she wants to die –

“You have to live,” Eleanor snarls, drawing her shoulders back full. “The Cousland line is with you. It is your duty to live, do you understand me?” At Haelia’s unseeing expression, she snaps, _“Do you understand me?”_

Haelia shuts her eyes, takes a deep breath.

A Cousland always does her duty.

“Yes,” she says. “Yes, I understand.”

“So long as it means justice comes to Howe,” Eleanor says, “then you must join the Grey Wardens. You must live, darling.”

Haelia’s mouth is dry and feels almost rotted. “I understand.”

Eleanor nods – decisive, final. “I’m staying here.”

Haelia jolts. “What?! No you aren’t!”

Eleanor closes her eyes, as if experiencing a sharp pain. “You have a better chance to escape without me,” she says. “I...I want to stay with your father.”

“Eleanor,” Bryce begins in soft protest.

“Hush, Bryce,” Eleanor says. “I’ll kill every rusard who comes through that door, but I won’t abandon you.”

_They are going to die,_ Haelia thinks, and she really does feel like vomiting now, like finding the nearest coast and upheaving until there is nothing left inside her, until she is just a hollowed out shape of a human. Adil makes a noise like crying where he is sitting next to the door.

“I love you both,” Haelia says, shutting her eyes against it and leaning her shoulder against Mother’s one final time. “So much.”

“Then live, Darling,” Eleanor says, gently, pulling Haelia in for one last kiss on the forehead. “Become a Grey Warden and do what is right.”

“They’re coming,” Polara says, voice urgent, and Mother and Father are speaking but Haelia cannot hear them, cannot hear anything but a rush in her ears, but the blood pumping through her veins, there is nothing but the ocean and death and death and death –

Polara pulls her down the hatch, and together, Haelia and Adil stumble out of the castle.

+x+

Haelia pulls the pins out of her hair seven hours later.

They’ve settled in a cove for the night – taking a long way around the castle, the route least likely for pursuers to check – and normally, the ocean waves are a comfort to her, but tonight it is nothing but the sound and smell of loss. Adil has been silent the entire journey, perhaps sensing the somber mood, perhaps exhausted by the sudden exercise, or perhaps aware of Haelia’s need for time. Polara, too, has picked up on Adil’s trend of keeping quiet. Now, Polara’s cooking some odd-looking sludge from materials she’d snagged from the kitchen before they left, watching Haelia the corner of her eyes.

Haelia takes her time pulling her hair out of its complex braids – it is frizzy and wild, now, untamed without her hairbrush nearby to force it flat. She’s already washed her make-up in the rough salt water near the shore. Carefully, she gathers every hair band, all five orange pins, every little hair clip that Mother had taught her so carefully how to use, in one hand.

The night is silent but for the crickets.

“One hundred and twenty-three,” Haelia says, finally, and Polara stops pretending to not be staring as she and Adil both look up.

Haelia stares into her palm, vision obstructed only slightly by the hanging hairs that now frame her face. “Mother and father,” she says, voice dull. “Five Chantry Sisters, one Chantry Mother. Three teachers. Seven...” she swallows, here. “Seven children, brought to learn. Three servants on kitchen and dining staff. Fourteen servants with other duties. Bann Landra. Her son. Iona. Twenty-five guards. Sixty soldiers, to be sent to Ostagar.” She flexes her hand. “I did a head count, last night. The list of those I would be charged with. There were one hundred and twenty-six, total.” The pins stick in her palm where she flexes – one of them dips into the still-stinging line where the sharp sword edges sliced her earlier, and she feels the pain dull, the same way she feels the headache the pin gave her. “Three of us made it out.”

The camp goes silent for a few moments.

Haelia stands up. “Haelia – “ Polara begins, but Haelia is already clenching her hand into a fist, bleeding from five different points, and everyone is dead, one hundred and twenty three, 123, three of them made it out alive, _Haelia_ made it out alive –

Haelia pulls back her fist and, with all the strength left in her body, hurls her handful of baubles into the ocean.

They make an unsatisfying _splash,_ so Haelia rips off her gloves next – hurls the one she used on father’s poultice first, who cares, it didn’t matter, it didn’t help – and then the other, a matching set –

She rips a strip off the armor’s skirt, and then fuck it, she rips off the rest of the skirt, throws it in, now she’s in pants like some sort of man, who cares – and then comes the dagger she’d picked off a fallen soldier’s body – the arrow that pinned one of the servants to the wall, screaming for mercy – she wants to rip the skin off her body and throw it, wants to take the crusted blood off her skin piece by piece and throw each one to the waves, lost at sea, lost to the ocean –

There is nothing left to throw, not without stripping naked; she whirls on her foot, prepared to shout at someone, she needs to shout at someone, someone needs to _pay_ –

“Hey,” Polara says, and Haelia’s chest is heaving for no reason, she has done nothing, she has paid nothing compared to – to one hundred and twenty-three people – “Hey,” Polara says again, and Haelia’s eyes are wild and she’s gonna fight the fucking Warden-Commander, right here, right now –

Polara opens her arms where she sits next to the fire, offering solace.

Haelia stands for a moment, fists clenched over the blood of her cuts.

Then she takes two strides over, falls to her knees, and lets her face fall onto Polara’s shoulder.

Polara wraps her arms around Haelia’s shoulders, and Haelia can’t quite bring herself to reciprocate because her hands are still fists, because she is still pouring red, but Polara doesn’t seem to mind – and now Haelia can’t stop herself, tears flowing free and angry – 

“I know,” Polara sooths, rubbing circles on her back as Haelia cries. “I know.”

“I should’ve died with them,” Haelia hiccups, her face red and tear-stained and she is a mess, she looks a mess, she should’ve died with them. “I – I should’ve stayed, I should’ve – “

“Shh,” Polara whispers, squeezing her a little tighter. “It’s okay. It wouldn’t have changed anything if you stayed.”

“I could’ve saved some of them,” Haelia says, but Polara just shushes her again.

“Listen,” Polara says, and her voice is tender. “This pain is not going to stop. It never gets better. It never gets easier. Time doesn’t do shit.” She reaches up to card a hand through Haelia’s hair, the motion soothing, and Haelia’s tense shoulders finally relax as Polara scratches her scalp. “It’s not going to stop hurting, but it will get easier to deal with the hurt. It doesn’t feel like it now, but I promise, it will.”

Haelia muffles a sob – _you’re wrong, it always is it always has been it always will be my fault, 123, 123, 123_ – and Polara just says, “I know, darling, I know.”

Polara rocks her, slow, and it feels as though it takes hours for the tears to stop coming. The food must be burnt by now, Haelia thinks, and the thought is almost funny.

“I died,” she says, and her voice is strained, like she's really been brought back to life. “I’m alive, but I died. Back there. With Father. Or Tamra. Somewhere. I’m not – I’m alive, but I _died.”_

Polara squeezes one last time before she lets go. 

“I used to have a friend,” Polara says, and Haelia wipes the tears from her eyes as she sits back on her heels. “Renato. We came from Antiva together, as teenagers – gambled away what little money we had.” She smiles, eyes faraway, staring in the distance. “Had my son with him, back before I became a warden. Lives back in Rialto, now – my son. Not Renato. Renato would never settle down. Always on his feet.”

Polara’s eyes, so distant and thoughtless, suddenly focus, sharp, eyes back on Haelia. “When our son was very young,” Polara says, and her voice is a dangerous type of quiet now, “a pocket of darkspawn happened to make it past the dwarves who guard the deep roads. We settled near Gherlen’s Pass, very close to Orzammar – better trade opportunities. Well, my son had a cold, and the village was so small I had to travel all the way to Redcliffe for medical attention. Four day trip, there and back, and by the time I got back – “

She stops, staring at the fire pit, at the burnt food. Haelia knows what is coming, and still she waits with bated breath.

“My husband,” Polara whispers, “was killed by Grey Wardens who thought he was another darkspawn from afar.”

Oh.

_Oh._

Polara looks back up at her – looks Haelia dead in the eyes, harsh – and then her face softens, and she _smiles._ “It hurts to talk about,” she confesses. “But that’s okay. Hurt is what makes it real. Pain is not a weakness any more than compassion or love are. It has been countless years since then, and those wounds have not healed. And I have never been the woman I was before. Because I do not need to be. That woman is dead, and I am the one who took her place, and it is that which I had to make peace with.”

Polara claps a hand on Haelia’s shoulder, and Haelia cannot quite smile – not yet – but she can nod, slow, and let her face go gentle. “It will take a long time,” Polara says. “Do not rush yourself. But for now – let’s start another dinner, since the soup seems to be a little...not liquid anymore.”

Adil barks out a laugh, and Haelia stares into the fire and thinks, _I can move past this. I will move past this._

A full five minutes into re-mixing another soup, Haelia whispers, “Thank you for saving my life.”

Polara looks up, smiles, and sets back to cooking the soup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some things I forgot to talk about last time!!
> 
> 1\. To accurately reassess the sexist origins of linguistics, I would literally have to recreate the English language from the ground up, which is not happening. However, I am going to be doing gendered words, particularly gendered slurs. Sometimes the variants are very similar - like Banne vs Bann - but sometimes they are very not similar and based pretty far back, etymologically. Whenever a word is replaced in full by a word of similar etymology but for the opposite gender, the original word vs new word and a very basic pronunciation transcription for the Southeast dialect of American English (as that's what I speak) are provided. I would be happy to explain where I came from if asked, but I like linguistics To The Point Of Being Boring About It, so you'll have to ask.
> 
> That being said, in this chapter, the word rusard (/ruzɚd/) is a feminine replacement for the word "bastard."
> 
> 2\. I have no illusions about my status as a white person, and thus being literally incapable of seeing most forms of racism in narrative portrayals. It's why I'm writing a theoretical discussion on gender power structures, not on race. But there are some very overt forms of racism in much of the world-building of the story (i.e. the appropriation of golems as a stereotypical fantasy race). This story is intended to be a fix-it in as many ways as possible, so while I will try to catch these, PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU KNOW OF ANY THAT MIGHT NEED ADDRESSED. I will catch as many as I can, but I am very limited by my own perception and inability to process information through lenses other than that of a white person. I would be happy to work with you on this.
> 
> 3\. As I said: this is a fix-it in as many ways as possible! Believe it or not, that includes things that aren't social justice! Luckily, a lot of (though not all of) the more continuation and aesthetic-based issues tend to have mods related to them, so when a mod happens to correlate to something that's been altered to make the worldbuilding Not Totally Self-Contradictory, I'll just sort of...casually slide a mention and a link into the end notes. Any mods mentioned are solely for the sake of 1) lessening any sexist/racist changes in continuation or general bullshit (i.e. the boob armor for female, which was briefly mentioned as being Not A Thing in this chapter, from the Neutral Female Armor Mod: http://www.nexusmods.com/dragonage/mods/4462/?) or for continuation. No other reason. Mostly they are there to help me, because I am running a game with Haelia to make sure that my style doesn't stray from canon (and circumstances, where relevant), and I thought they might be nice for anyone else who would want them.
> 
> 4\. Final thing: updates are really infrequent and will continue to be. Sorry! I have college and a job, along with very little energy as a general rule due to mental health issues. Even without those, it's a bit of a lengthy process to unpack every word and concept in a story and then to turn that unpacking into a compelling narrative. I'm not sure exactly how often updates will be. Probably more than once a month? We'll have to see.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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